“Yes,” he mocked her, still chuckling; “we ought to have told the Colonel he had bought a dead horse--and been gently kicked for our trouble. We know the Colonel, Tom and I. You notice that Tom bought out the mercantile house. Tom’s wiser than a serpent; he knew it was the best thing father had. Tom likes me. Isn’t it funny? He’s always settled all claims for damages against me when I’ve ripped things loose--and done it economically and quietly--never said anything, but just asked later for my check and said ‘Um’ when I thanked him. I caught the old rascal once giving an organ to a church somewhere--Vermont or New Hampshire; I guess it was Vermont, come to think of it. He was terribly bored when the bill strayed in to my desk. It was in memory of his father and mother and he growled fiercely because I got on to it.” “He’s a strange man; I don’t understand him,” remarked Mrs. Craighill carelessly. “By the way, how did you come out with your drive with Tom? Of course you told father you had been out riding with another man. I don’t know just how he would have taken it; you see Tom was only a sort of clerk in father’s office; father never knew him socially. I’ll wager you didn’t tell the Colonel.” “No; I didn’t tell him. He was so angry about mother having spoiled his visit to the Brodericks’ and threatening to come here for a visit that I couldn’t have told him if I had wanted to.” “Ah! I suppose you’ll wire her not to come, like a good little girl.” “No; I’ll do nothing of the kind; but she won’t come.” Her tone caused him to look at her quickly; but she met his gaze quietly and asked: “How did you get on with Miss Morley after I so considerately left you alone this morning? This has really been a very busy day, hasn’t it?” Wayne’s heart sank at the mention of Jean. It was in this room that very morning that heaven had seemed so near. Mrs. Craighill had followed her inquiry with a glance to see why he ignored her question. He had turned forward the table by which Jean had stood when he took her hand and held it to his face. He did not answer her question but stared dully into the fire where the events of the day mocked him in kinetoscopic flashes. Mrs. Craighill raised herself to her knees and brought her face close to his. “Are you in love with her, Wayne?” “What if I am?” he snapped, stirring uneasily and drawing slightly away from her. “I’d be sorry if you were in love with anyone, I think; but you musn’t let her hurt you. I shouldn’t like that. She is too handsome for a poor girl; I suppose I was too,” she concluded with a sigh.